Chapter 20

Specificity: One of a Kind

Every year adolescents across America compete in an essay contest and the winners get to go to Washington D.C. to be honored. The subjects are things like “Democracy” and “Freedom” and some kids win and get the big trip, but these essays are almost inevitably terrible. And they’d probably be just as bad if college students wrote them. Because the subjects have two enormous pitfalls. They are general. And they are amorphous. Clouds of ideas. There is no there there. You can’t write well in general. No one can. You can only write well in specifics. The emotion and the originality and interest and excitement are all in specific details.

Bill Clinton was brilliant at this. At being specific, not general. So when he’d give a speech it wouldn’t be about Poverty in the Elderly. It would be about Mildred who is 87 and buys seven cans of cat food every week, and doesn’t own a cat. He wouldn’t talk about Teen Pregnancy, he’d talk about Brittney who is 15 and pregnant. For the second time. Instead of the homeless, he’d talk about Joe who lives in a cardboard refrigerator box in back of the 7–11.

The crowd may have thought they were applauding to stamp out poverty or teen pregnancy but they were moved by the stories of individual human beings. We can’t care about 40,000 pregnant teenage girls or 400,000 homeless. Or 4 million elderly living on subsistence income. Our minds can’t actually process these numbers on an emotional level. We can be intellectually shocked by numbers. But for deeper emotional response you need a story about a person or a small group of people who represent a bigger issue.

And what is bad writing about Democracy or Freedom is just as bad when you’re writing about Love, which is not only amorphous and general, but it’s been written about a lot longer than Democracy or Freedom. So pretty much everything has already been said, right? In general, yes. In specific detail, no.

How do you write about love in specific detail? Let’s look at some examples.

In High Fidelity, John Cusack’s Rob spends most of the movie trying to get back his ex-girlfriend Laura. And as research for this project he tries to figure out why none of his relationships with women has lasted. He does this by literally revisiting all his old girlfriends. But when it comes right down to it, he still loves Laura. And as a vinyl music nerd, he has a top five list for everything, and can explain to us why:

He knows exactly what he loves about her. She is singular. She can’t be replaced by anybody in his past, present, or future. It has to be Laura. She is his one. The one for him. He could date a thousand other women and none of them would rub their feet together like Laura did. Are you starting to get the picture here?

Another list that got the girl is from Win a Date with Tad Hamilton (2004, screenplay by Victor Levin). In this movie, Rosalee, a pretty, blonde, innocent smalltown girl (played by Kate Bosworth) wins a contest in which the prize is a date with a gorgeous, shallow movie star who is trying to de-sleaze his public image. Pete (played by Topher Grace) is the guy who truly loves her, who has known her all their lives and works at the Piggly Wiggly Market with her every day. Pete realizes that he is about to lose her to the infamous, titular Tad H. (Josh Duhamel). To try to protect Rosalee, Pete explains to Tad how special she is, when the two guys are alone. He’s trying to make the point that Tad doesn’t really know her at all.

When Tad uses this information on Rosalee, she nearly falls for him, but when he finally confesses that he was quoting something Pete told him, she makes a fast U-turn and goes for Pete. And it turns out she’s been paying attention to his smiles as well.

Fever Pitch (2005, screenplay by Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel from the novel by Nick Hornby) has Ben (Jimmy Fallon) make a list of the things he likes about Lindsay (Drew Barrymore.) (It was also made into an English film, same title, in 1997 with Colin Firth, about a soccer-obsessed guy, but it didn’t work quite as well. Even though Nick Hornby adapted his own novel for this earlier version.)

In Bull Durham (1988, screenplay by Ron Shelton), Kevin Costner’s Crash Davis has a speech that he delivers to Annie (Susan Sarandon) that makes his specific character so clear that it wins her over right then, though they don’t actually get together until much later. She is a brilliant baseball coach and strategist who takes one player from the Durham Bulls under her wing and into her bed every season. This year her choice is between Crash, the new, but seasoned, catcher and Ebby “Meat” Laloosh (Tim Robbins), the dim doofus of a rookie pitcher, but who earns the nickname Nuke for his pitching. Here’s the speech:

Her breathless response is, “Oh my.”

The importance of being specific when speaking about love was made crystal clear in Cyrano de Bergerac by author Edmond Rostand, here the Brian Hooker translation into English. The role won the Oscar for José Ferrer in 1950. Gérard Depardieu played it in the original French in 1990. You may remember the story of a poet/knight who loves his cousin Roxane from childhood, but from afar since he has a large nose and believes no woman could ever love him. A handsome young cadet in his regiment, Christian, attracts her, but doesn’t have the depth of character or beauty of language to win her. Until Cyrano begins writing his love letters for him. She falls for those words. It all comes to a head one night when Christian tries to make love to her in person. Here is the dialogue:

And she takes herself off into the house, angry and disappointed that he can’t come up with any better words to express his love. So Cyrano has to speak to her directly from the shadows below her balcony, pretending to be Christian. His words:

After this, the handsome Christian climbs to the balcony and wins the lady. Cyrano is left alone below in the shadows.

All of these examples of specificity in dialogue point to unique characters. It’s important to express thoughts and feelings of love in original heartfelt detail. But the characters who are the objects of this love also need to be singular, vivid, lovable people. Think about specific details in creating characters.

Specificity of Character

Lloyd Dobler (John Cusack) in Say Anything (1989, written and directed by Cameron Crowe) is one of those singular, unique characters in a love story. An original. He is a senior in high school, a kick boxer, an army brat who’s lived in Europe. A compulsive fast talker. He lives with his sister, single mom (Joan Cusack), and her little boy while his parents live in Germany. Lloyd’s three best friends are girls. He is graduating from high school and doesn’t have a plan. He stands on his own. He is likeable. He likes people and they like him, but he is his own man.

And he is driven by a passionate quest. He yearns for and loves from afar an unattainable goal. Her name is Diane Court (Ione Skye) and she is way out of his league. His friends describe her as “A brain. Trapped in the body of a game show hostess.” She is so far out of everyone’s league in high school that she doesn’t even have a boyfriend. Lloyd’s three best friends advise him against even trying. They don’t want to see him get hurt. Lloyd’s response: “I want to get hurt!” Lloyd, being Lloyd, will not give up on his dream woman without giving it a full Court press.

Diane, the object of his adoration, is brilliant and beautiful, the valedictorian, who has kept herself apart from her fellow high school class, putting all her energy into excelling enough to win a nationally prestigious scholarship to study in England. Lloyd cold calls her house and after a lot of fast talking, she agrees to go to the graduation party with him, not actually knowing who he is. At the party one of the other guys asks him a good question.

And we get it. He is Lloyd Dobler.

When Diane’s father (John Mahoney) asks Lloyd about his career plans, speaking at top speed Lloyd’s response is:

We never heard anyone in a movie say anything like this before. Lloyd is honest and funny and in his own way smart and deep. Likeable. We can’t help but root for him. In a later movie, another memorable Cusack character Rob (in High Fidelity) says, about relationships with women, “You gotta punch your weight.” Lloyd Dobler doesn’t settle for that. He throws himself headlong at love against all odds. He is fearless. No, that’s not it. He’s plenty scared. He’s actually courageous.

“Get ready for greatness, Lloyd.”

Katie Morosky (played by Barbra Streisand) in The Way We Were (1973, original screenplay by Arthur Laurents) is one of those unique, specific, indelible characters. She and Hubbell (Robert Redford) fall in love in college in the 1930s and the movie covers three decades of their relationship. Katie is brilliant, idealistic, liberal, political, Jewish, educated, talented. Ultimately she is too much for Hubbell who is the golden boy, wealthy, blonde, handsome, gentile, with all the advantages of birth. American royalty. She demands that he rise to her standards, share her outrage, fight the good fight for a better world beside her on the front lines. He chooses not to step up and do that. He chooses an easier life in golden California with its sunshine and seascapes. Where he can find the peace and quiet to be a writer, which is his dream. While she stays on in New York battling for her causes. And we understand this breakup even though it breaks both their hearts.

When they meet again by chance in the 1950s, he has a lovely golden-girl wife with him, but clearly she is no Katie. He will never know another Katie or love anyone the same way. Because Katie Morosky is specific. Singular. Larger than life. A Life Force character. One that anyone who has seen the movie will not forget.

Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking that a character is good because an interesting movie star is playing her. It’s not Barbra Streisand who makes Katie so great. It’s because Arthur Laurents created a great Katie Morosky that Streisand wanted to play her and the whole thing went on to win Oscars. It starts with the writing. Don’t count on anyone else filling in any blanks. You create your character from whole cloth or from life. That’s your job.

The Way We Were is a similar love story in some ways to the classic Tracy/Hepburn film State of the Union (1948, screenplay by Anthony Vellier and Myles Connolly from the play by Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse), in which they play a married couple as he is pushed to run for president. She is the fired-up idealist and when, with great passion, she takes hold of him and tells him, “I will not let you fail”, we believe her. And so does he. And with her behind him he doesn’t give up his ideals. He can’t. And he becomes the man she knows he can be.

Annie Hall (1977, written by Woody Allen and Marshall Brickman) is one of those singular, unique, specific characters. It is not surprising that this film won the Best Actress Oscar for Diane Keaton, as well as Best Picture and Best Screenplay. Quirky, funny Annie was new to audiences. Her men’s hats, ties, shirts, and vests, her “La di da,” her wacky tennis playing style, terrible driving, fear of spiders and lobsters alike all combined to create a character who is indelible in our communal hearts and minds. Many of us dressed like Annie Hall back in the day, though we didn’t actually say “La di da.” Some of you who have sneaked a peek at the back of this book will be wondering why Annie Hall is not included in my list of 100 Best Love Stories on Film.

Woody Allen at that time had a habit of writing parts for himself where he plays someone much like himself. And in most of them wonderful, beautiful, sexy, funny women are madly in love with him. Everyone from Diane to Mia Farrow to Mariel Hemingway. I never quite believe that they fall in love with him. For any reason other than the screenwriter made them do it, so Woody could once again get the fabulous girl. Do I believe Alvy loved Annie? I believe Annie was lovable. The audiences loved her. But Alvy Singer? I remain unconvinced. And I am equally unconvinced that Annie loved Alvy. He had plenty of humanizing touches, since neuroses certainly qualify. But I didn’t quite believe that she fell in love with him either.

In 500 Days of Summer (2009, written by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber), Zoe Deschanel plays the titular character. Before we really meet her, we hear Tom’s (her recently dumped boyfriend, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt) ideas about her.

Tom is in bad shape. His kid sister Rachel Chloe Grace Moretz rides her bike over even though it’s way after her curfew. She gives him a vodka and asks him to tell her and his two best friends what happened. He recounts the breakup scene which took place over pancakes in their favorite coffee shop. It’s pretty blunt. And cold. Twelve-year-old Rachel tries to reason with him.

He has his sights set on a clear goal and the story is off and running.

Sure, maybe Tom’s philosophy is based “on sappy British pop songs and a complete misreading of the movie The Graduate,” but he believes in The One. And for him, Summer is The One. His Helen of Troy, Marilyn Monroe, Virgin Mary, Juliet, and the Princess Bride rolled into one petite brunette. She is not replaceable. She is fun and funny. She loves Ringo Starr and going on dates to Ikea where they pretend that the furniture showrooms are their house and they just happen to have six stoves. And even if the narrator at the beginning has warned us that “although this is a story of Boy Meets Girl, make no mistake, this is not a love story,” we don’t believe him. Even though the film begins with the onscreen disclaimer that “this movie bears no resemblance to any actual persons living or dead. Especially you, Jenny Beckman. Bitch.” The screenwriter is obviously bitter and this is probably semi-autobiographical, but we still don’t believe that it’s not a love story. Why? Because Tom is in love. Utterly. Perhaps hopelessly. But in Love. And since we are the protagonist for the duration of the movie, we are in love right along with him.

My point here, is that if Tom feels this way about Summer, then she has to be written that specifically. She has to be that unique. Special. Quirky. Irreplaceable. If, when we get to know her, she is unworthy or uninteresting, it makes Tom a fool in our eyes. And the minute the audience decides they no longer want to identify with the protagonist, they lose interest in the movie. And you have failed. So make your characters specific and unforgettable. It’s in the details.